very interesting.

  The past two days I’ve been miserably confined to the bed or the couch, struck down by either a stomach bug or mild food poisoning (You’ve got a weak stomach, my mother says on the phone from San Francisco, distracted and not really giving a fuck, we both do. Are you pregnant? OK, we’re going […]

summer’s end.

Lately I have been doing so much work there isn’t room for anything else. I wake up and make coffee with eyes still closed against the morning light. I work in bed with the pillows propped up behind my back and I don’t shower until three or four, when I’ve written or revised thousands of […]

inspiration.

Inspiration is sometimes hard to come by and sometimes overflowing. I think I figured this out when I was really young but I didn’t know how to articulate it until I was older. Until I was, ostensibly, “an adult,” and could point to myself in times of stagnancy and understand that it’s okay to not […]

what isn’t there.

I start a lot of stories with—I don’t know if this actually happened. That’s a side effect of having a shitty memory, one ill-suited to record the goings on of a childhood spent mostly alone, mostly outdoors. There’s more to it, of course. I’m sure they’ll come out with a study (if they haven’t already) […]

taking pictures.

I’ve been to Venice twice before and never with S, so on Saturday we headed down to the beach and walked around in the sunshine. Then Sunday morning we went to breakfast in Santa Monica and the restaurant’s walls were filled with photographs of Venice in the 1920s, people in full suits and matronly dresses […]

on remembering.

I don’t have a good memory. I mean—it doesn’t behave. But maybe I’m being too hard on myself. Maybe that’s typical of everyone’s memory. We forget the important moments. We forget the things we want to remember. We remember the things we’d give anything—anything—to forget. We remember the things we would scoop out of our brains […]

memorial day.

I’ve been sick and traveling and now I’m still sick but finally stationary and jet-lagged, the kind that wakes you up out of the blue at 5 in the morning, the kind that sends you to bed before 10. It felt good to get to California. S pointed out the plane’s window and I leaned […]